A Valentine from a Best Friend
by Patano
Summary: It's Valentine's Day 1915 and Sybil Crawley is upset about the content of the cards that she has received. She discusses the matter with her best friend, Branson. What will be the consequence of this conversation? My Sybil/Tom Secret Valentine Exchange present for Hetep-Heres.


_This is my Sybil/Tom Secret Valentine Exhange gift for_ _**Hetep-Here****s**. __The prompt that was given to me: On one of the Valentine's Days between series 1 and 2, that is to say once they know each other a bit more than when he arrived, but before he declares his feelings to her, Sybil and Branson make conversation while reading some cards she received from boys/men she met during her season. Sybil casually asks Branson whether he has received any card /or how comes he hasn't received any card._

___Happy Valentine's Day to you, **Hetep-Heres** :) Hope that you enjoy this fic!_

_Thanks for reading and reviews are very welcome ;)_

* * *

**A Valentine from a Best Friend**

* * *

**14th February 1915**

Only when Sybil entered the room for breakfast did she notice what day it was. _Valentine's Day, I completely forgot about it this year. _It also dawned on her why Mary and Edith had come to breakfast earlier than she (which was quite unusual). It was customary in their circles to send Valentine's cards to girls you liked, found beautiful or nice, or simply had a pleasant time with during balls. Those cards did not entail any deeper romantic feelings (at least in most cases). They were however a good indication of someone's popularity, so Mary and Edith always competed how much cards would each of them get. Sybil never participated in this contest, as always she preferred to watch her sisters from the sidelines. Though she did not care much for boys' attentions, she always received a pile of cards each year.

When Carson finally brought her pile, she immediately spotted that she was sent less cards than in earlier years. _War, of course. A lot of men I know are now fighting on the Continent._

Sybil glanced at Mary and Edith, and as expected, her older sisters were stealing secret looks at each other's piles. Sybil sighed quietly and began eating breakfast. Cards could wait.

After she ate breakfast, Sybil decided to return to her room and only then did she decide to look through her Valentines. She managed to merely read a few of them when she felt sadness and anger fill her body. She knew that she needed to see _him._

* * *

Sybil didn't know why going to see Branson made her nervous this time - he was her best friend and she shared everything with him, so why couldn't she show him the cards that she had received? Why did she feel anxious and hesitant at the prospect?

Such thoughts occupied her mind until she arrived at the garage. Luckily, Branson was there, washing the car. When he saw Sybil, he nodded his head in her direction, and hurried to finish the washing.

Meanwhile, Sybil sat on the bench and began looking through her Valentines once more, waiting for Branson to finish what he was doing.

Finally, the chauffeur was ready to join Sybil on the bench. As always, he seemed very happy to see her.

"What is it?" he asked joyfully as he sat next to Sybil.

Sybil felt awkwardness rushing through her. What was worse, she was not only embarrassed by what she was holding in her hands, but also nervous because Branson had sat so close to her. Closer than ever. _It's not the first time I feel this way around him_, she pondered.

"Valentine cards that I've received from some men I met during the season," she at last managed to answer.

Was she mistaken or did a shadow pass over Tom's face?

"It's not... a surprise... that you've captured... the hearts of so many men, milady," Branson stuttered.

_Does this thought really make him nervous_? Sybil couldn't help to ask herself. She only knew that she had to clarify this as soon as possible.

"Don't think that they're in love with me. It's just a pleasant custom, to send a card to a girl you danced with and think to be nice. Nothing more," she explained and looked at her interlocutor pointedly.

Was she mistaken yet again or was he relieved by her statement?

"Oh, I understand..." replied the flustered chauffeur. "I'm not surprised that you received so many Valentines, anyway, milady," he continued as his cheeks turned red.

"Oh, it's less than usual because of the war, you understand," she said before she could think and then was angry with herself for saying that. _Why did I say so? And more importantly, why do I care so much today about what I say?_

"Yes, I do understand," Branson murmured and looked her directly in the eyes. "And I'm not ashamed that I'm not one of them."

Sybil pondered her answer for a moment before responding, "I do not judge those who are not in the trenches either. It should be your own choice whether you want to shed blood for your country. Though if I'm completely honest I'm much closer to understanding and accepting choices such as yours, stemming from convictions, than choices of those who only spend their time on partying in London."

"Aye, it's honourable to fight for _your_ country somehow, though I don't necessarily approve of the violent way."

Sybil nodded her head, and Branson continued, "I mean there are other ways to make your voice heard. I've always wanted to fight for Ireland through my words, for example... Maybe one day this dream will be fulfilled."

"I'm sure that your dreams will come true one day" Sybil whispered. "You deserve it."

They were surprised when suddenly they both leant to each other and their faces became really close...

Sybil quickly decided to put an end to this dreamy state they were both in and turned her attention once more to the Valentine cards on her lap.

"You see, I've read these cards and that's why I've come here. I needed to talk you. They upset me a great deal."

Her words made Branson return to reality and when he was finally able to register what she had said, he mumbled, "But why?"

"I'll read them to you and you'll see why," Sybil decided. "Here's the first one: _To one of the most beautiful girls of my acquaintance. You dance like a swan."_

"Since when swans dance?" Branson was puzzled.

"Oh never mind, just look at this:_ To one of the most beautiful girls of my acquaintance_."

"Well, he doesn't hide the fact that there are more of you," the chauffeur teased.

"Oh, I don't care about that. He only states that he likes me because of my looks."

"But, isn't it nice that someone sees you as good-looking?" the young man inquired.

"It is, but look at the other cards: _Your beauty takes my breath away. You're a queen of hearts. I can look at you all days. Your skin is like made from alabaster, your lips are made to be kissed, and you hair is pure silk. _Or: _ You're the most beautiful lady I've ever laid my eyes upon. You're the princess, and I'm your knight. I want to serve you, o graceful rose._ The rest are similar. Is that all they see me for, Branson?_"_

"I would say that first of all they're hardly original or poetic," Branson chuckled, but seeing Sybil's troubled face, quickly added, "I'm sure that people see more in you than just your looks. Forgive me, for being inappropriately sincere, milady, but you're are beautiful..." When Branson uttered those words, he immediately turned scarlet and looked at his shoes.

For some strange reason, this confession made an impression on Sybil. Her stomach made an odd flip flop and she felt heat coming to her cheeks. Nothing like that had happened when she had earlier read all her Valentines.

Slowly, Branson regained his composure. "I mean... you're beautiful, milady, no one can argue... but you're definitely_ more_ than just that. They only say so because they knew you only in a ballroom."

"You're right about some of them. But I had a pleasure to be better acquainted with others, and it seems that they only remember my looks."

Branson became uncomfortable once more. "Do you care about them?"

"Oh, no, don't think so," a flushed Sybil hurriedly replied. "It's just... I worry about how women are seen in our society, and it's sad for me to realize that our appearance is still the most important quality."

The young man nodded his head in assent, deeply lost in thoughts. "That's why women like you should work to change this way of thinking," he suggested.

"But how?"

"Most importantly, just by being yourself. By being what you already are - an independently thinking, passionate, strong and kind-hearted young woman. And do not be afraid to voice your opinions about the issue - challenge the system and fight with it through words."

Sybil loved hearing him speak as such - speak with fervour and conviction, about matters that concerned both of them deeply. She was sure that Branson was the only person who truly understood her in this house and that... yes, he was her "kindred spirit". It was wonderful to, for the first time in her life, have such a friend to talk to.

There was also something more in Branson's speech - the way he described her - that made her heart flutter and caused her to turn violently pink and direct her gaze at her shoes.

"You're flattering me, Branson," Sybil finally managed to say, even though she was still glancing at her feet.

"It is true milady, you're a wonderful person and much, much more than just a pretty face."

The air was tense once more; Sybil looked up at her and Branson's gazes met and lingered. Again, they were moving closer to each other, and again, Sybil recovered from the reverie just in time.

"Branson, I haven't managed to read you the best of these cards."

"So there was one that you liked?" Branson inquired with a touch of worry in his voice.

"I meant it ironically," Sybil winked at him playfully and began to read:

_"You're such a graceful lady,_

_sweeter than a newborn baby,_

_Your pose and delicacy make me swoon_

_I wouldn't mind dancing to your tune,_

_Your hair and skin are impeccable_

_from your face turn a head I'm not able_

_Please be mine_

_Your Valentine."_

Branson was momentarily stunned, then mumbled sarcastically, "That's true poetry. It even has rhymes!"

They both couldn't hold it any longer; they laughed together heartily and for a moment they were just a pair of friends having a jolly good time together.

Soon, however, the atmosphere became quite tense once more when Sybil asked (she didn't know what prompted her to say so), "Did you receive any similar poetry from lovelorn housemaids?" As she waited for Branson's answer, she felt a sudden wave of anxiety rushing through her. _Why does such a simple question make me uncomfortable?_

"I haven't received any Valentines," Branson unexpectedly announced.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!" Sybil yelled and turned scarlet. "I... just mean that you're a good-looking man, Branson." For yet another time this day, she turned her gaze towards the floor.

"Thank you, milady," replied Branson, clearly embarrassed too. _Does she mean it? _

"I'm sorry," Sybil suddenly whispered.

"For what?

"For sounding like you're only handsome and nothing more. You're a kind, passionate, and intelligent person, so I'm puzzled why no one has sent you a card."

Branson knew that his pulse was racing. _See? She has a high opinion of you. Damn it, I won't be able to sleep tonight._

Finally, the young man was able to say something, "I think that the other servants see me as weird, milady. I scare everyone with my bold political opinions."

Sybil sighed. "People are hard to understand. Your passion for politics is one of the things I love most about you."

The awkwardness they both felt during the whole conversation reached a new level; both were now too embarrassed to speak. Silence fell upon them and only the fast beatings of two hearts were heard in the garage.

They only recovered when they heard a sound of footsteps and saw William Mason heading towards them. They immediately rose from the bench and approached the footman.

"I've come to tell you, Mr. Branson, that Mr. Carson wants to speak to you," William announced.

"I'm coming," was the chauffeur's reply.

During all this time, William was looking at Sybil quizzically.

"I was just ordering the motor," Sybil informed him and quickly began walking towards the door. Even though William was surprised by Sybil's presence in the garage, he didn't question her motives. After all, Lady Sybil wasn't at all like other aristocrats and her behaviour was often unconventional. It wasn't strange for her to come order the motor herself. Not at all.

* * *

_Poor Lady Sybil, to receive only such cards. Maybe I can do something about it? Like send her a card that would highlight qualities other than her beauty? I know that friends also send Valentines to each other. I hope that I'll not give my feelings away... No, I'll sign it "your friend" or something similar. I'll just put the card in some book and give it to Anna... I'll say that Lady Sybil have left the book in a car. Anna will not enquire further or poke her nose into matters that are not hers and check the book... I think it's a good idea_.

* * *

_Poor Branson, not to receive any card. What can I do about it? Maybe... yes, that's an idea. After all, friends also send Valentine cards to each other. It's nothing surprising about it, isn't it? It means nothing of __**that**__ sort, doesn't it? Now how to manage it? I know that he drives Edith to Ripon today... I'll just leave a card in the garage, on our bench... Yes, that's a good idea!_

* * *

She was puzzled when Anna told her that she had left a book in the car, but tried to look unsurprised because she suspected that Branson might want to send her some message this way. And there was a message, or rather - a card. A Valentine card from Branson! Sybil didn't waste even a second and began to read:

_To my Best Friend,_

_I won't say that you're beautiful (though you are), but I'll tell you other things about yourself that you might not be aware of. You're the most wonderful girl I've ever met and the best friend I've ever had. You're an excellent person, with a sweetest of dispositions, and the best of hearts. You're strong-minded, not afraid to speak your mind, determined and inspiring. You make me believe in myself and my dreams. You give me strength. I promise not to break this trust and to live up to your expectations. This is a promise to you, my Best Friend. T.B._

It was the most beautiful Valentine card she had ever received. The one that was also dearest to her heart.

_Why is Branson always the source of mayhem in my head? Do these... feelings... mean? And he feels similarly about me as I feel about him! Our bond... isn't it special?_

_What does it all really mean?_

_You can't feel this way, You can't..._

* * *

So, he had received a Valentine after all and where... on the bench. _Our bench, _Branson realized_,_ _Could it really be?_ He quickly opened the envelope and read what was written on the card:

_To my Best Friend,_

_I would like to thank you for all the great time we have together. For our discussions and laughs. Thank you for the simple fact that you understand me perfectly. I always wished for a friend like that and I finally met him. Thank you also for the fact that you see me as more than just a face, as a person with actual character traits. I know that you're a man that will achieve great things in life. You're so clever, talented and determined. I 'm sure that you'll make something of yourself. I believe in you as you believe in me. You're a wonderful man. Truly. S._

His pulse was racing and there was no single coherent thought in his mind. _Yes, she speaks of friendship, but maybe... she also feels something more? She admits after all that we fit together perfectly... And she thinks that I'm wonderful... While there's life, there's hope. Now I know, though, that I won't ever be over her. She's my other half, I know it. My missing puzzle. I'll love her until I die._

_And maybe one day she'll say she loves me back..._


End file.
